Miss Cameron's Fall from Grace

by Helen Dickson

  His mind was focused on the problem when a movement beneath a towering beech tree across the street caught his attention. Curious, he continued to watch the spot. After a few moments the figure of a man emerged. His movements were furtive, the garish, shabby clothes he was wearing out of place in the heart of Mayfair and he seemed to be watching the house.

  Stephen realised with a shock that this man’s appearance was no coincidence and that in all probability it was Will Kelly. So he had followed Delphine from the orphanage. Delphine had been right—he was handsome enough in a coarse way, thickset and with a thatch of untidy fair hair beneath an ill-fitting hat.

  Suddenly Maisie’s problem had indeed become his own. But what could he do about it? Delphine was right: the girl had to be protected. Stephen waited until the man disappeared round a corner before turning away himself.

  At the moment he had another more serious matter to deal with—how to placate his irate wife. He had some grovelling to do if he was to make amends. Better to reconcile her by honest persuasion than to force her hand by the weight of his displeasure. It would certainly be a more pleasant course.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Delphine was still smarting over her clash with Stephen, but more than that, the probable contents of his letter from Spain had struck at her heart. Was it unreasonable of her to be suspicious—jealous, even—of another woman?

  She was sitting at her vanity, securing her upswept hair with pins when she heard the light knock on the door. Sensing it was her husband, she called for him to enter; when he did, she lifted her head, straightened her back and raised that stubborn chin of hers, which he was getting to know so well. One of the maids was present; Stephen didn’t even look at her. His gaze was locked on his wife.

  He quirked a speculative brow at her. ‘Has your disposition improved?’

  His infuriating, unshakeable calm, combined with his arrogance, nearly choked her. After a moment during which she fought to dislodge the word from her throat, she said, ‘Yes.’

  Satisfied, Stephen moved further into the room. As he came closer, Delphine quivered—half with apprehension about his reason for seeking her out and half with relief that he cared enough to do so. As he approached, she was filled with a disturbing surge of desire for him, despite her anger and hurt.

  ‘What is it you wish to say to me?’ she asked coldly.

  His gaze flicked to the maid. ‘Please leave us.’

  The maid gave a respectful bob and then scuttled out of the room.

  ‘What do you want, Stephen?’ Delphine asked. ‘Can I expect an apology—or do you still condemn me for bringing Maisie here? If you do, please spare me the reproof and go away.’

  ‘I do not condemn you—far from it, as I would have explained, had you given me half a chance. I think we should discuss this.’

  She gave him a dubious look. ‘Discuss it?’

  ‘Before you make any more rash assumptions.’

  Her eyes narrowed and she rose from the vanity table. ‘Rash? Everything I have done where Maisie is concerned has been well thought out. It may surprise you to learn that I had made up my mind to rescue her from that brothel-monger Will Kelly before I left Cornwall. Long before. So do not dare accuse me of doing anything rash.’

  ‘I apologise.’

  His apology took her off guard. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed? Wholeheartedly?’

  ‘Absolutely and completely.’

  She eyed him warily. ‘Why should I believe you?’ she countered, remaining on her guard, resisting her weakness for him. ‘How do I know this isn’t simply a strategy to placate me?’

  ‘It’s the truth. You were right to take the girl and it was wrong and insensitive of me to say what I did. I would not wish such a fate on any young girl. I am sorry, Delphine. I’m a callous brute. Maisie can stay, if that is what you want. Of course she can, and you may fill the house to the rafters with such strays if it makes you happy.’

  Delphine’s heart swelled to almost bursting with gratitude. ‘Oh, thank you, Stephen. I couldn’t bear to leave Maisie behind.’

  ‘But what I will not allow is your total preoccupation with the girl,’ he said reasonably. ‘You have a good heart, Delphine, and a generous nature that will not allow you to turn away from whoever needs you. For that I admire you. So—just what do I need to do to get your attention? Present myself at the orphanage on Water Lane and declare myself an orphan?’

  Delphine found it difficult to suppress a smile. ‘You’re far too big for that. They’d never let you through the door—unless, of course,’ she murmured, giving him a sly look, ‘you were to present them with a rather generous donation.’

  ‘I would do more than that. I would even buy the charity that is so dear to your heart some new premises, if you will forgive me for upsetting you—although as I said, I was not about to turn Maisie out on to the streets.’

  She stared at him, seeing the softening in his deep-blue eyes, wondering if she had heard correctly. ‘Are you serious—about buying some new premises, I mean? You would do that—for me?’

  ‘Indeed I would.’

  ‘But—why?’

  ‘Because I can afford it and I know it would make you happy.’

  ‘I don’t want you to do it for that reason. I want you to do it for the children—but it will make Aunt Celia happy. The orphanage on Water Lane is full to capacity and she has been trying to raise funds for larger premises for a long time.’

  ‘I am aware of the situation.’

  She stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise. ‘How…can that be?’

  Moving to stand directly in front of her, he gave her a smug, smiling look. ‘Because, my dear wife, I have made my own enquiries into the state of the orphanage in Water Lane. So you see I am not the uncharitable, unchristian brute you accused me of being earlier. If I provide the money, you must promise me that this is the last time you play Lady Bountiful. No more orphans. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Stephen. Thank you.’

  ‘There are plenty of waifs and strays in Cornwall to be taken care of. I’m sure they will be as appreciative of your time as the ones in London.’

  Suddenly Delphine’s throat was tight with tears. She wanted so much to go to him and throw her arms about his neck to show her gratitude, but something made her hold back. Afterwards—a long time afterwards, when she looked back—she would realise that that was the moment when she began to love him.

  She raised a smile to him, realising she was feeling far better than she had felt in a long time. Indeed, after seeing evidence of his generosity toward complete strangers, her spirits had been buoyed by a rekindling of hope. The day now seemed much brighter.

  ‘Maisie can come with us when we go back to Cornwall,’ Stephen said. ‘Until then she must remain indoors. You were right about Will Kelly. Someone was watching the house earlier—a disreputable-looking character with untidy fair hair. Does he fit your description?’

  Delphine started with alarm, her blood running cold. ‘That does sound like him. Is he still outside the house?’

  ‘No. He left. But I expect he’ll be back. Men like him are persistent. Don’t worry. I’ve had a word with the staff to keep a lookout for him. Maisie is quite safe.’

  ‘Then I’ll just go and make sure—’

  He caught her arm as she made a move to go to the door, holding her back. ‘No, Delphine. Maisie is being well taken care of. Oakley has charge of her and I assure you he is taking his responsibility very seriously.’

  Tears clouded her eyes. ‘Then I know she’ll be all right. Thank you for your consideration towards her,’ she said with heartfelt gratitude. ‘She hasn’t had much of a life since her mother brought her to London—and Meg’s death and the manner of it, however it came about, affected he
r terribly—but she’ll have a much better one in the future.’

  Stephen’s eyes softened as he looked down into her eyes. ‘After seeing your gentle nurturing of our daughter, it comes as no surprise to find you calming the fears of a homeless waif in need of loving care. You are goodness personified, my love.’

  The endearment tore at Delphine’s heart. How she wished that were true. The corner of her mouth turned upwards tantalisingly. It was absurd for her to be so warmed by his remark. She was annoyed at herself for wanting these crumbs of approval from him, but she did.

  ‘I shall remind you of your words if you ever have reason to be cross with Lowenna.’

  A slow grin curved his handsome lips as his eyes glowed into hers. ‘I may not have your admirable qualities, but I shall remember—about you.’ Briefly his gaze descended to caress her breasts. ‘I shall not by any degree forget those rewarding moments when we first met.’ Seeing the heat of a blush flooding her cheeks, he smiled. ‘So now, for the first time since we arrived in London, can we forget about Maisie and the orphanage? It’s important to me that it pleases you, but it’s time we spent some time together. We arranged to take a picnic to Hampstead Heath, remember? The food is prepared and the carriage is waiting.’

  Delphine hesitated, her eyes drawn to his. Yes, perhaps something would come of spending some time together as a family. There would be plenty of time for lazy conversation. Her lips curved in a smile. ‘Then all that’s missing is Lowenna. I’ll go and get her.’

  * * *

  The afternoon was glorious, the trees showing the full glory of their late copper-and-gold autumn colours. Even as they climbed into the light two-wheeled cabriolet drawn by a single white gelding, Delphine felt something unwind inside her. With the sun directly overhead, Stephen raised the leather hood to provide them with shade. An excited Lowenna in a white gossamer dress with a bright-red ribbon sash, a frilled bonnet covering her black curls and her face alight with excitement, was sandwiched between them, the carefully prepared picnic basket secured to the back.

  With Stephen driving the cabriolet—which was so well sprung it seemed to float along the road—they left the environs of the city behind at a sedate pace.

  Delphine was alluringly attired for their outing in a delicate ivory-muslin dress. The V-neck and the edge of the three-quarter-length sleeves were edged with lace. A matching hat festooned with frothy white feathers was perched atop her head at a jaunty angle.

  Had they been alone, Stephen would have been tempted to throw caution to the wind and drive the horse faster, to hear her shriek with terrified delight and to see her lovely eyes opened wide and sparkling with excitement, but for safety’s sake he restrained the urge.

  On reaching Hampstead Heath, which was a popular place for people to picnic and take the air, sufficiently far away from the fumes of London, they decided to have their picnic beside a pond, shaded by a huge oak tree. Stephen carried the large picnic basket and Delphine supervised an excited Lowenna. After spreading a large blanket on the grass, Delphine sat back on her heels and looked around as Lowenna toddled off to pick some daisies that sprinkled the grass. With fine views all around them, they were completely alone.

  ‘What a lovely place this is,’ Delphine remarked, twisting her body and sitting with her legs stretched out in front of her. Discarding her hat, she turned her face up to the sun and closed her eyes.

  Stephen joined her. ‘It certainly is,’ he agreed. ‘I did consider taking you to the gardens at Vauxhall across the river, but I thought Lowenna would appreciate something of a more rustic nature to ramble about in.’

  ‘This is much nicer than Vauxhall,’ Delphine said, breathing deeply of the clean fresh air. ‘There aren’t so many people about and you are right, the Heath is more—rustic.’

  He grinned at her and a devilish light gleamed in his eyes. ‘Careful, Delphine. If we are too secluded, my imagination is in danger of turning to rustic pleasures.’

  Delphine smiled somewhat coyly. ‘What on earth can you mean? I have never indulged in any rustic pleasures, so how on earth can I possibly know what you are talking about?’

  ‘Don’t pretend to play the innocent,’ he said softly, pulling off his jacket and tossing it aside, stretching out his long booted legs. ‘Prepare yourself for country pleasures.’

  ‘The prospect is rather open, Stephen,’ she said, laughing lightly. ‘I do not think this is the place to indulge in such things—and Lowenna would never stand for it. Perhaps we should have gone to Vauxhall after all.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Do you imagine that I have dark motives in mind, bringing you here?’

  ‘I’d be surprised if you hadn’t. Be assured that I think nothing but the worst of you.’

  Loosening his cravat, he leaned his weight back on his arms, noticing her light shoes sticking out from beneath her skirts and her stocking-clad ankles. He stared at them, thinking of her legs. With the thought came an ache in his loins; sitting up, he fixed his gaze on the waters of the pond stretched out before them. ‘Whatever motives I had in mind, my love, it’s certainly a nice way to spend the day.’

  Delphine had to agree with him. And it was not a lack of room that caused Stephen to sit so close to her on the blanket. Her pulse stirred as the faint scent of his spicy cologne touched her nostrils and she hastily turned her head to see what Lowenna was doing.

  Stephen looked at her. ‘What have you planned for tomorrow?’

  ‘We are to visit my parents in the afternoon so I am free in the morning.’

  ‘Good. It will be a good opportunity for us to visit the shops.’

  She stared at him. ‘Us?’

  He grinned roguishly. ‘You don’t think I’m going to let you go by yourself, do you? While we are in London I want you to have a complete new wardrobe. We’ve been invited to two balls next week, for which you will need a couple of new gowns. I shall accompany you to steer you away from ordering anything in brown and grey.’

  Delphine threw him a look of mock offence. ‘Not all my gowns are dull. I do have one in rose pink,’ she confessed. A dreamy look entered her eyes when she thought of the pretty gown she had been unable to resist when she had seen it on display in a shop window in Plymouth. In a moment of mad self-indulgence, she had bought it, intending to wear it when Stephen came home. ‘I could not resist purchasing it when Mrs Crouch and I visited Plymouth.’

  Stephen did not understand how something as trivial as a mere gown could engender such an expression of pure bliss in Delphine, but he did appreciate the effect. He saw a pink blush creep into her cheeks as she tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear in a self-conscious gesture. A woman could be as beautiful as she felt herself to be, and it seemed as though his efficient and sensible young wife was not immune after all to the magic of a lovely dress to help that feeling along. But then, the woman who sat beside him was not the same Delphine he had known before he went away.

  ‘I am glad to hear it. You have brought it with you?’

  She shook her head. ‘It still hangs in my wardrobe at Tamara.’

  He grinned. ‘Your impulsive action tells me one thing at least, my dear wife.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘That you are not averse to a little fashionable frivolity, which will make our expedition to the shops a pleasure.’

  Their conversation was interrupted by Lowenna. Holding a few straggly daisies in her little hand, she presented the bouquet to a delighted Delphine before scampering off to find some more.

  Delphine felt a momentary glow of pleasure at her daughter’s gift. Pressing them to her nose, she inhaled their sweet smell. ‘They say flowers have a language all of their own,’ she murmured softly. ‘Do you believe that?’

  ‘Why not? Some people believe it to be true and have even written books about it—not that
I’ve read them myself. It’s quite the fashion to convey one’s sentiments with the giving of flowers.’

  ‘What a lovely way to express one’s feelings.’ She looked at him, a smile curving her lips. ‘This small bouquet of flowers is the first I’ve ever been presented with.’

  ‘Lowenna is as thoughtful and sentimental a soul as her mother. You like flowers, then?’

  ‘Very much—especially sweet-scented ones. I wonder what message a daisy conveys—what is its meaning.’

  ‘I don’t know the true meaning of the flower, but I suppose it could mean anything the giver wishes it to mean.’ Reaching out, Stephen plucked a daisy from the bunch and Delphine caught her breath as he raised it and tucked the tiny flower into her hair. ‘There. Now you truly are the lady of the daisies,’ he teased. ‘I think I shall take a cue from our daughter and begin presenting you with flowers of different kinds on a daily basis. Perhaps it is the answer to my problem of how to win you over.’

  She glanced at him obliquely. ‘Do you wish to win me over?’

  ‘Most certainly. I think I shall begin by giving you roses to soften your heart, then lilies to intoxicate you with their scent, followed by passion flowers to convey my complete devotion. They are quite exquisite, you know—like passion itself.’

  A rush of warmth swept over her and she turned her face away before he could see that she was blushing. ‘I’ve never seen passion flowers, so I would not recognise them if they were given to me.’

  ‘You would, for I would tell you—and if you were to eat the fruit of the passion flower—well,’ he murmured, his voice low and soft with seduction, ‘there’s no telling what might happen. There is a danger of you losing your inhibitions altogether and becoming a different person entirely—one you would not recognise.’

  The effect of his words and the underlying seduction was devastating. Delphine felt blood rushing to her cheeks and a weak trembling feeling from the pit of her stomach to her knees, as she was suddenly assaulted by memories of his heated kisses and caresses. ‘Goodness,’ she said, a little breathless, ‘these are serious symptoms indeed.’ With the treacherous warmth seeping through every pore of her body, she felt quite overcome with embarrassment as she gazed into his mesmerising eyes and tried to cover it by teasing. ‘What are you trying to do to me, Stephen, lead me astray by offering me exotic bribes?’